Next month I’m flying to Anchorage, Alaska to race Single Speed Mountain Bike World Championships. I haven’t felt like a kid at Christmas in a long while, but this actually has me buzzing with anticipation like the time I knew the Shogun Warriors I desperately wanted were in my parent’s closet waiting for me (sorry mom, yes I snooped), but I had to give sleep a futile attempt on the 24th because that’s just how it is.

Problem is, now that I’m an adult, I’m more prone to pesky reality checks and a few weeks ago, I had one. As I was planning said adventure, I realized the last time I actually raced a singlespeed mountain bike was, um, 2005 Single Speed World Championships when they were in State College, PA. The last time I’d ridden one? Um…once in 2010? No problem, right? Well…

I’ve developed a pretty well-ingrained riding and racing style at this juncture, one that involves charging up power climbs, spinning up steep stuff, and generally staying seated most of the time, using all the benefits that cross-country full suspension delivers.

Enter a hardtail singlespeed bike with a 32 x 20 drivetrain. The bike is a Specialized Crave. It actually came fully rigid. But I like my retinas attached just where they are, so I opted to outfit her with a Fox Terralogic fork. I bought some tires, fixed her up with the fork, and in a moment of “hey why not?” spontaneity, registered to race on it at the Curse of the Dark Hollow (pictured above) in Michaux State Forest last Sunday. It was a bit like taking a spoon to war, especially since I had yet to take a single pedal stroke on her, and having zero experience with the fork hadn’t dialed in my suspension.

I pinged my friend Mike who had lots of experience with the Terralogic fork to help me set it up and provide a bit of moral support on my maiden voyage. We hatched a plan to do a short lap at Bear Creek, which is as technical as anything I was likely to face (well, close anyway…oh Michaux…) in my upcoming races.

Just as we were strapping on our helmets to roll, it started raining. I briefly thought of pulling the plug, but immediately thought better of it. Perfect, I thought. If I can pilot this thing up steep rocky climbs in the rain here, I can pilot it anywhere. I could tell Mike was less than thrilled and would have bailed in a heartbeat, but I didn’t care or pause for any wavering. I was on a mission. We set the platform and rebound on the fork based on my riding style and off we went. I felt like a kid on Christmas day.

In all the years of honing whatever racing techniques I’d been honing, I’d forgotten how much fun it was to just ride your damn bike. Singlespeeding forces you to remember. I pedaled into the first rocky bit of singletrack, maniacally focused on what lines to take. The light nimble bike responded on cue. I smiled. I laughed. I pedaled some more. A few switchbacks later I stopped and grinning like an idiot when Mike pulled up, blurted out, “I love it!”

We finished a short loop that left me feeling extremely optimistic. Okay. I can do this. I actually really love doing this. I Facebooked, Instagramed, and Tweeted my love for my one-geared wonder. Then came Saturday.

My friend Matt rolled up to our house in the morning for a ride up South Mountain (my backyard trails, which might be even more unforgiving than Bear Creek). He and Dave rolled their bigger travel bikes up the mountain while I crouched like a spider monkey over my singlespeed, trying to keep my on-the-verge of ragged breathing smooth. Climbing the steep, technical grades I generally spin right up felt counterintuitive and inordinately difficult. My spider monkey brain started to get the best of me.

You’re out of your mind. Forty miles of Michaux? Alaska? Who do you think you’re kidding? I kept my mental angst closed in tight. But I couldn’t shake the creeping self doubt. Was I biting off more than I could chew? I casually tossed out that notion when we got to the top of the mountain. Matt was full of reassurances. “You signed up for the 40, right?” he asked. “Yes, why?” I replied. ‘Because if you’re going to go over your head, you should go all the way.” Funny. Ha. Ha.

I was still in that nervous, unsure, vaguely rattled, yet oddly excited headspace when we pulled into the venue Sunday morning. “I hope I can do this,” I said to Dave for the 12,000 time as we parked. He stared at me blankly for the 12,001 time. Our friend Buck and former SSWC winner walked up and put it all in perspective. “You’ll either sit, stand, or push,” he said simply. “Yeah. I just don’t know how to race this.” More succinctness, “Singlespeeding takes the race out of you.”

Boy was he right. I lined up with the other singlespeeders and lost them within 30 seconds of the actual race start as I desperately willed my legs to spin 200 rpm to catch them. I caught some of them on the first technical climb. Then as the field strung out, ended up by myself to figure it out for the rest of the day. There were false flats where I really didn’t know what to do. There were flats and descents where I could do next to nothing. There were climbs I powered up faster than normal because I had no choice. There were endless rock gardens to ratchet through. I was sort of racing. Sort of not racing. But really definitely enjoying the ride.

In the end, I managed a second place finish among the women and pulled a respectable enough time. More importantly, going back to basics helped me appreciate the simplicity of my sport. You sit. You stand. Sometimes you get off and push. You have to choose your lines and apply some finesse, skills I’ve let slide as technology took over. I have no idea what will happen in Alaska but I’m confident it will be simple and simply great.

Pure Bliss: Redline’s MonoBelt, Tested

Craft-brewed beers have always been the perfect way to end a ride. When the Oskar Blues Brewery of Longmont, Colorado, introduced their canned Dale’s Pale Ale in 2002, they kicked off a growing revolution that’s made carrying a good brew on the trail all the easier.